


Sleeping Beauty in Reverse

by hanekawa



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: M/M, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanekawa/pseuds/hanekawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which everything is alright with the world. Well, other than the fact that Yamapi thinks there’s a ghost who looks a little too much like Kame haunting him, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2010.02.19 [here.](http://mi-key.livejournal.com/25837.html)

_I can't decide which is the truth  
At least not yet  
I got the feeling,  
it's you_

 _(Goodbye Again - Vertical Horizon)_

.

.

.

 _Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a fair princess…_

-

There are three things that Yamapi has always been sure of more than anything: that mornings would always chase away the nights no matter what, that life is unfair, and that once you died, you’re always gonna stay dead.

To him, those three things are, like, the ultimate facts of life, and he doesn’t think they would ever change – especially fact number #3.

Which is the exact reason why his mind refuses vehemently to process the scene in front of him.

Yamapi stares at the person before him, eyes wide, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“You--” he starts, and stops.

“Me.” Says Kame, raising an eyebrow at him, hands crossed over his chest in a gesture that appears to be casual.

“But you – you – “

“Well? Don’t you miss me? After all, I’ve been gone for, what, a few months now?” and he actually sounds so happy, so relieved, so…expectant, like this is actually something to get excited about, like this is truly a joyful occasion, like he’s expecting Yamapi to envelope him in a bone-crushing hug any second now.

Instead Yamapi freezes, face completely devoid of all colors.

“…But you’re dead.”

… And the world just _stops._

-

“I didn’t know you and Kame are friends,” Jin commented without looking at him, sounding strangely pleased if not a little bewildered.

“We’re not,” Yamapi replied without thinking.

Jin laughed then, high and unrestrained, like he thought Yamapi was only being silly. “No need to hide it! I saw you two having lunch together the other day!”

“Doesn’t mean we’re friends, though.” Because they weren’t – and never would be, at the rate they were going.

“Say what you want, but the evidence speaks for itself~” Jin said in a singsong childish teasing, which meant whatever Yamapi had to say next would never have any effect on him.

“If you say so,” he shrugged, too tired to argue.

Jin beamed at him.

He gave Jin a smile back in return, trying not to contemplate too much on the lack of guilt he felt in his gut at the fact he’d just lied to his friend.

-

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Yamapi says numbly, still uncomprehending. “I know you’re already dead. I – I’ve made sure of it myself!”

Kame tisks. “Geez, no need to shout. How can you be sure that I’m really dead anyway? Did someone tell you exactly that, and you just believe them like you always do without any hesitation?” he laughs, but it sounds so distant and misplaced, like putting a piece of puzzle on an entirely different set altogether – it fits, but it’s wrong – so unlike his usual laughter, and it terrifies Yamapi more than he cares to admit.

“I killed you.” Yamapi whispers, voice just barely audible.

Kame stops laughing when he hears it, and he slowly turns around to face Yamapi, eyes gleaming with some indescribable light that Yamapi can’t and doesn’t try to interpret.

“I killed you, and I made sure your heart really stopped beating before letting you go. You’re supposed to be dead.” His voice cracks on the last sentence, though he’s barely aware of it himself.

“Then how can you explain this? I’m here with you right now, aren’t I? What do you think I am?” Kame asks, his tone clearly mocking, spreads his arms wide and turns around once as if to give Yamapi a chance to look him over. “A ghost?” he adds, and when Yamapi doesn’t answer and only stares at him unblinkingly, unintentionally confirming his wild accusation, he starts to laugh again; that cold, unfeeling laughter with no mirth in it, only cruel amusement and a hard, unforgiving edge that can’t be stepped on.

He keeps staring at Kame, because really, it’s the only thing he could do for he’s still unable to believe he’s really seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.

Then the laughter dies down, and ever so slowly, Kame turns to look at him, the corners of his mouth curve upward just the tiniest bit, chin tilts up just so and eyes soften in that familiar way that can never belong to anyone else.

“I’m home.”

Before he even knows it, he has parted his lips to say the supposed answer, the reply that by then has become a habit, but before he can, he catches himself and halts, the words die on the tip of his tongue.

Seeing his hesitation, the (Not) Kame chuckles, clearly feeling amused. “You’re supposed to say ‘welcome home’ to that, you know.”

\-- and he prevents himself from thinking further.

“You’re not Kame.” he hears himself say, and recognizes the denial for what it is.

“But I am.” Kame shrugs uncaringly, before setting his eyes on Yamapi in a hard gaze that doesn’t give him a chance to pull away from. “And guess what? Whether you like it or not, I’m not leaving. _So deal with it._ ”

Yamapi shuts his eyes tight and wills himself to wake up from this nightmare, and he feels more than sees Kame’s lips stretch into a smirk.

“Oh my… I have to say though, _it’s good to be back_.”

-

 _But then a curse befell her, and she slept through eternity…_

-

They didn’t let him see Kame; instead, they fed him some half-assed lies about why he couldn’t see Kame that he was sure even a little kid wouldn’t believe.

So he sneaked out to Kame’s room at the first opportunity, and then he realized why everybody seemed so keen on preventing him from seeing Kame, and he. And he couldn’t say he blamed them.

It didn’t feel _real_.

He stood where he was, unable to move, transfixed by the surreal scene before him: Kame, who looked more dead than alive with the bandages and interconnected wires and all those machines and monitors that Yamapi never thought he would see outside a film set. He blinked twice, experimentally – just in case the medication he was given was still in effect and this was nothing more than his imagination playing a trick – but nothing changed.

Kame was dying, and he couldn’t do a thing about it.

He stayed there for a long time, watching ( _hoping_ ) for any change that didn’t happen.

-

 _One day, came a brave prince…_

-

“I killed Kame,” Yamapi suddenly says, voice flat, face straight, eyes on the half-empty glass in front of him.

Jin blinks. “Okay.” He says, and then discreetly asks the barkeeper to refill Yamapi’s glass.

Kame laughs behind Jin, leaning heavily on him, his arms encircling Jin’s shoulders in an embrace. “He doesn’t believe you.” Kame tells him, smiling with his eyes, because his lips are too busy curving a line that looks a little too much like a smirk.

Yamapi slowly turns to him, a hand stretched out, trying to touch him, to catch his arm, not really caring whether he would catch flesh or thin air this time, but Kame leans back and out of his reach before he can do anything, and he only ends up grasping Jin’s shoulder instead.

“ _I’m being serious here._ ”

There is something – a hard edge, perhaps – in his voice that makes him sound harsher and rougher than he intends to, that makes him sound like he’s spitting the words out instead of saying them.

“Okay.” Jin says again, patting Yamapi’s shoulder in a reassurance before he subtly signals the barkeeper to add something stronger into Yamapi’s glass.

Kame cackles madly in the background, and Yamapi resents the fact that he’s the only one who can hear him like nothing before.

 _I hate you_ , Yamapi tries to say through the venomous glare he sends Kame’s way, to which Kame only smiles – but his smile looks way too innocent to be anything but.

“But you don’t.” Kame says pleasantly. “And we both know it.”

And Yamapi wants to deny it, to say that it’s not true; but he knows denials when he hears one, and decides it’s not worth it to give Kame the satisfaction of hearing one. So he just goes back nursing his drink and pretends he can’t hear or see the deceased member of KAT-TUN at all, just like any other sane people in this world.

Kame laughs.

-

 _I love you_ , Kame would whisper again and again into Yamapi’s ear in the darkness of their room, when he was sure that none but him was awake.

Yamapi heard it one night by accident, when he was only half-asleep, and that statement immediately sent him into wakefulness state with a jolt. But he didn’t turn around, and only tried his hardest to even out his breathing patterns and feign sleep. But Kame did nothing else; he only lay there, so very still for a long time until Yamapi heard his breathing started to even out.

Those words might have been directed at him, but they were never meant for his ears, and he had no right to listen to them at all. He had no right, and it would be best for him to just forget all about it.

Then he discovered that Kame did it just about every night when they were together, repeating that phrase over and over like a mantra, like it was a complicated spell that he had memorized with so much difficulty and thus had to be chanted again and again just so he wouldn’t forget.

Since then, he kept hearing things not meant for his ears, and he knew he should’ve let Kame know he knew and put an end to this, he really should have; but he found himself unable to, because when he heard those things Kame say, his head was full with things he should have never thought about, that mostly consisted of a question which kept being played as if it was on repeat:

 _Who is this person, this –_ this little child _, who seems so insecure and vulnerable?_

But Kame never said anything, and Yamapi didn’t ask; and so they ended up perfecting the art of silence that they had been practicing without even knowing it ever since they first met.

 _How fucking ironic._

-

“I’m not a ghost, you know.” Kame says, even as Yamapi’s hand that is about to caress his apparently-warm-cheek only falls through his skin and finds empty, cold, _cold_ air instead of warm, solid flesh. “I’m not.”

Yamapi doesn’t even blink in surprise anymore, and only retracts his hand back, stuffing it into his jeans’ pocket to prevent himself from reaching out again. “Then what are you?”

“You should know that best. After all, you were the one who _willed_ me into existence.”

There’s something, an emotion so close to sadness which flashes behind Kame’s eyes when he says it that catches Yamapi’s attention, but it’s gone the next moment, and Yamapi’s really not sure if he isn’t just imagining it. Surely such creature as ghost and the likes don’t feel any emotion like pain and sorrow?

“If I was really the one who summoned you, or created you, or whatever, then why the hell didn’t I know what you truly are?”

Slowly, Kame’s eyes shift to his direction, and Yamapi is taken aback by the suppressed emotions behind those dark, dark orbs.

“I’m not a ghost.” Kame says in a voice lower than a whisper, his expression subdued, and it seems almost as if he’s admitting defeat.

Yamapi doesn’t reply.

-

Yamapi dreams.

He dreams of a warm night in summer, of its soft wind and of various festivals to attend and colorful lights to see. He dreams of singing cicadas and dancing fireflies, of the dry texture of the grass and the feeling of solid ground beneath him when he lays on it. He dreams of making promises he won’t keep, of wanting but never taking, of walking ahead but always getting left behind.

He dreams of unreturned smiles, of secret glances, of reaching out only to stop half-way, of holding something only to have it disappear instead.

He dreams of _Kame._

He wakes up to a soft hum, a tune so faint it might as well be a whisper. Someone’s singing beside him, near him, _to him_ , and he remembers this melody, this tune that never fails to comfort him and calm him down every time he hears it. He opens his eyes slowly, and when he sees a familiar figure sitting by his side on the bed, an automatic smile instantly finds its way to his lips. His hand immediately reaches out for the person beside him, his mind already imagining the warmth his skin always receives every time he touches the other person, a beginning of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips –

It doesn’t hold.

\--only to freeze over when his hand only manages to grasp thin air.

“Ah.”

Of course. How could he ever forget? Kame’s dead, and all that remains of him is a sorry excuse for a ghost with a cruel sense of humor.

However, upon realizing he has woken up, Kame’s lips stretch out, and in his current state Yamapi can’t be sure whether it’s a smile or a smirk that grazes those thin lips. “Oh my… look at who finally decides to get back into reality.”

Yamapi sighs, turning away from him. “If this is really reality, then why am I still seeing you?”

Kame’s eyebrow quirks upward slightly, while a giggle escapes his parted lips. “Why, I have to say I’m quite flattered that I apparently made an appearance in your dream. Do you know some people believe dreams are the manifestation of your hidden desires? So tell me –“ he pauses and leans closer, until Yamapi can feel the cold, freezing air Kame’s touch always leaves him with. “–was it a nice dream? Were we lovers there, or were we just _normal_ friends?”

It sounds strangely like an accusation, the way Kame says it, like he’s blaming him, like all of this – all that ever happens to him is Yamapi’s fault. Yamapi wants to deny it, but a part of him – a part that never surfaces unless he’s delirious enough – confirms it; that yes, it’s definitely his fault – at least partially – it all finally comes down to this, and he just – he doesn’t.

He doesn’t know what to do.

“Why are you doing this to me,” Yamapi whispers brokenly. It’s not a statement, but it’s not quite a question either, and he’s sure it must be the fever talking because he can’t seem to understand what exactly it is that he’s trying to say at all. “Do you hate me that much?”

So similar and identical to the Kame that he used to know, yet so much easier to hate.

He doesn’t know whether it is an irony, or just a plain karma.

 _“Do you hate me that much?”_

Yamapi looks at Kame the moment he hears his own words being thrown back at him, and finds himself faced with a pair of black eyes that do not reflect his reflection, a thin line grazes the lips he used to kiss. Kame didn’t just say that to him to irritate or irk him; something in the tone he used, or perhaps his expression, suggests something else entirely, like – like he was –

Yamapi shuts his eyes tight; no, it’s not possible.

It’s just simply _not_ possible.

“You’re not him – you _can’t_ be him.” And now he just sounds weak – even to his own ears – like he’s trying to convince himself that the Kame he used to know and this ghost version of him are two different entities, that they’re not connected at all despite the uncanny physical resemblance.

He feels more than sees Kame roll his eyes. “And here I thought we’re past denial phase already.”

But Yamapi notices there’s no real heat or sarcasm in that sentence, like he just says it for the sake of saying it, just so he can say something and not let the silence stretch between them.

Like he’s doing it for his sake.

“Don’t worry, because the moment you can touch me is the moment I will vanish from your sight – forever. So… you better make up your mind soon.”

He smiles then; he smiles like he never does before--ever since he appeared six month after Kame’s death, so bright and warm and comforting and all those things that Yamapi has never seen in this ghost version of Kame before:

he smiles like he _means_ it.

He wants to ask him _what are you talking about_ and _why is it your words sound like a goodbye_ but fatigue claims him before he can voice out any word, and the last thing he sees as he drifts off to sleep is Kame’s soft, soft little smile and sad, sad mirrorless eyes.

-

 _Overcome by curiosity, the prince bravely went through the forest of thorns and slay a great dragon—all for the sake of seeing the rumored sleeping princess…_

-

“Hey, what are we?” Yamapi asked one day, his voice carrying that light tone that was just enough to make it sound casual.

Kame looked up at him. “Human being? Idols? The heartthrobs of just every teenage girl in Japan?” he paused when Yamapi just kept staring at him. “What?”

“Let me rephrase that: what do _you_ think we are, exactly?”

Kame tilted his head.

Yamapi shrugged. “Just so we’re clear.”

Something shifted in Kame’s eyes, something that Yamapi didn’t recognize, and when Kame finally replied, his voice was steady and sure and he sounded like he really believed what he was actually saying. “Convenient lovers.”

Yamapi heard: _Fuck buddies._

But then he remembered the stolen looks and the missed phone calls and the masked-desperation and the way he kissed and those whispered _I love yous_ in the dark that none supposed to hear, and all he could think about was:

 _Liar._

And at that moment, he didn’t think he could ever resent the fact that Kame was actually a damn good actor more than anything, because that meant he couldn’t see through his lies, and wasn’t that just _fucking_ wonderful? If he’d never heard those forbidden three words by his own ears, he would’ve believed what Kame said in an instant.

He looked away instead. “Well, as long as we’re clear.”

 _Fine. Have it your way._

And he convinced himself that no, Kame’s eyes didn’t just linger a little too long in his direction, that it was definitely not a longing he saw for a second in those eyes.

He had always been good at lying to himself after all.

-

“You came,”

He looks at Kame, brows furrow in confusion, legs halt in mid-step. “Of course I came. Why wouldn’t I?” He replies even when he doesn’t have the slightest clue of what Kame is referring to, because that is the only response that comes to mind when he hears Kame’s sudden statement.

Kame shakes his head in a sort of mixed combination of amusement and exasperation, which tells Yamapi that he knows he’s bluffing. “My funeral, I mean.” Kame looks at his own bare feet as he says that, as if it is something that he’s ashamed of, as if mentioning it would bring bad omen or something. “You came.”

Yamapi doesn’t even blink. He only shrugs and resumes his trip to the couch, grabbing some beers by the kitchen’s counter on the way. “It would be weird if I actually didn’t come. You were still my co-worker, after all.”

“They expected you not to.”

He snorts. “Too bad I’m not the obedient kid who always does what he’s told then.” Flopping down on the couch, he stretches his legs as far as they would go and drinks his beer as he watches Kame’s reflection on the flat screen of his television, and sees that the sarcasm isn’t completely lost on him as he looks away from him. He flicks the TV on then, because it still seems rather bizarre for him to see Kame’s reflection anywhere.

Really, aren’t ghosts supposed to not have reflections at all?

Of course, it would be just like Kame to go beyond everybody’s expectation.

“Why did you come?”

He looks at Kame then, the beer can frozen just an inch from his parted lips, because he catches something at the careless way Kame throws that question – like he doesn’t really care about the answer, or like he expects Yamapi to be difficult about it and merely braces himself for the inevitable smartass comeback that’s sure to follow – which is really Kame’s default expression whenever he’s being completely serious while pretending he’s not.

“I was only going through the motions.” He means it to come out rather casual, or uncaring, or sarcastic and rhetoric, but it sounds too genuine to his liking.

Kame raises an inquiring eyebrow then, like he’s not sure if he is supposed to believe that at all. “Are you saying you didn’t know what else to do?”

“I’m saying it was a sensible thing to do,” but it sounds weak and too much like an excuse even to his own ears, so he just stops himself from speaking further and determinedly keeps his eyes on the television.

There’s a soft giggling sound coming from Kame’s direction, before soon it’s replaced by a small amused laughter that sounds weird, a bit strangled perhaps, like he’s trying hard to muffle his laughter and failing miserably.

“It’s almost sweet though,” Kame says after his laughing urge seems to subside, apparently feeling the need to emphasize his point by making his voice as sweet as honeyed sugar. “I never knew you had that much faith in me.”

 _It’s like you were thinking that I’d be around forever, and the probability that I might disappear one day never crossed your mind – it’s like you were expecting me to come back._

He could feel his cheeks burn, and doesn’t try to dignify that comment with an answer.

-

He was pinning Kame to the floor, his body splayed all over Kame’s while Kame staring up at him, eyes wide and glassy, hair ruffled and stuck to every direction, a hand splayed flat on Yamapi’s chest to prevent him from leaning down further. He glanced at the hand on his chest before shifting his gaze back to the owner of the hand, asking in annoyed voice, “what?”

“This isn’t right,” Kame said, and there was a hint of uncertainty there, like he himself actually wasn’t sure what it was exactly that _wasn’t right._

Yamapi tried to assess the situation, and found that Kame didn’t actually put that much pressure into his hand, and if Yamapi pressed on, he might actually score a kiss and get away with more. But then he reminded himself that one of Kame’s knees was actually in ideal position to *accidentally* cause serious damage down there should Kame feel the need to defend himself, so… _ouch._

He let out a sigh. “Nothing’s ever right with you.” He paused and gave Kame’s profile a once-over, and from what he had seen, Kame didn’t look that uninterested either. “Look, it’s either you want to, or you don’t. Just pick one – it’s that easy.”

Kame averted his eyes and looked to the side instead. “No, it’s just… I know we don’t need to be in a relationship to have… fun. I mean, I have my share of strangers, after all. But unlike those faceless strangers, I would still meet up with you – since we work together and have the same best friend and all.”

God, he wasn’t sure that he was actually stoned _enough_ to have this kind of conversation right now, despite the fact that he had long since lost count of how many bottles he had drunk by then.

“Your point?”

Kame pursed his lips, eyes still not quite meeting Yamapi’s. “It doesn’t matter if we like each other or not, because if the sex is good, then we would definitely want to do it again. And that’s when everything will start getting messy.”

He would be damned, but fuck, that sounded like a challenge. He looked at Kame and smirked down at him. “So what? You want to end something that hasn’t even begun? The great Kamenashi Kazuya, scared of getting _attached_ to the little meaningless _me_?”

Kame flushed – though in embarrassment or anger or something else, Yamapi couldn’t be sure, and when his own words finally reached his beer-induced-brain, Yamapi laughed; he laughed, because it was definitely _not_ funny at all, and he knew it, and Kame also knew it. But they both also knew why Kame’s face suddenly flushed, why his hands slightly trembled when he touched Yamapi’s face, and it still wasn’t _funny._

He was _definitely_ not stoned enough for this.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Kame was saying, even as he pulled Yamapi’s face close to his until their noses bumping against each other’s, lips just a breath away from touching, eyes burning with the Unspoken. All in all, he was practically nuzzling his head against Yamapi’s cheek, and looked like he wasn’t aware of it himself.

“We really shouldn’t,” Yamapi agreed, even when one of his hands was busy unbuttoning Kame’s shirt while the other supporting his weight so he wouldn’t crush Kame beneath him. “We really, _really_ shouldn’t.”

Then their eyes finally met, and for a few moment, there was only terse silence as they tried to convey what they wanted to say through their eyes, but then again their ears were never meant to pick up the things left unsaid, and their minds were definitely not in their right places.

In short, to hell with logic and common sense.

When their lips finally met, it was Kame who crushed them together. And it was also Kame who linked his arms around Yamapi’s neck, a hand threading roughly through his hair as if making sure he was really there and wasn’t going anywhere.

It was Kame who started it.

But it was Yamapi who indulged him, who kissed him back with the same amount – if not more – of fervent intensity, who snaked his arms around Kame’s back to prevent him from backing down, trapping him there, and so perhaps he was equally to blame for this.

They parted for air, and the first thing that came out of Kame’s mouth as he tipped his head back to give Yamapi more access to his neck was, “…then what are we doing?”

But it sounded more like a plea for more rather than a request to stop, so Yamapi just kept pressing his lips to the spot below kame’s left ear, unhurriedly nibbling and sucking on the sensitive skin.

“We’re not doing anything wrong.” Yamapi assured, helping Kame to shrug out of his shirt before crushing their lips together again, his hands on Kame’s back pressing him even further to him and Kame let out some strange noises that sounded vaguely like a moan—or a wince of pain—he couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t loosen his grip, and if the way Kame arched his back toward him was any indication, he approved this. “We’re just… indulging our curiosities.”

“But they say… curiosity killed… the – _Ah!_ – cat.”

Yamapi pulled away slightly and looked down at his handiwork on Kame’s writhing form, and smiled in satisfaction at the sight presented to him despite himself. “Then it’s a good thing we’re not cats.”

Then he stopped Kame from saying anything more by sealing their lips together in a heated kiss, all teeth and tongues and sharp edges, and if there was a distinct taste of metallic tang of blood mixed in with the flavor of gin and tonic and beer and crystal meth in their kiss, none of them cared enough to stop—too tangled up in this short moment that most likely wouldn’t happen again, despite Kame’s little theory—and really, there was no point in being gentle either.

He should’ve expected it – because Kame was right more often than not – but still he couldn’t help to resent him for not being wrong when it happened again the second time, the third time or the many times after that..

 _(Kame was the one who started it, but he was the one who let it happen.)_

-

The closest Kame ever got to a confrontation was _Am I a replacement?_ and the closest Yamapi ever got to an answer was _You want me to say yes._

 _No_ , Kame denied, eyes hard and unwavering, _I want the truth._

 _There’s no such thing,_ Yamapi said, _as the truth. I can tell you a truth, but I’m afraid it’s not what you want to hear._

 _Tell me anyway._

He looked at Kame then, and asked in a low voice, _Am I?_

Kame looked like he might say something, but seemed to think better of it and lowered his gaze to the floor instead. _That’s unfair._

 _Life always is,_ Yamapi said. _So, am I, to you?_

Kame bit his lower lip, his gaze stayed resolutely on the floor. _I don’t know._

Yamapi sighed. _Then you got your answer_. He left, and he could feel Kame’s gaze on his back even without looking. Somehow, he half-expected Kame to stop him, to finally say something that would change everything, to take the first damn move; but Kame didn’t—Kame didn’t, and Yamapi was sure as hell wasn’t going to.

Kame wasn’t the only one who could do stubborn, after all.

-

When he arrives at NEWS’ dressing room the next morning, he hears voices coming from the room, even though it’s still too early for anyone to be here.

“…have to believe me. I think he’s sick. Or depressed. Or stressed. Whatever. I can never distinguish them, anyway. But you know what I mean.”

He recognizes the voice as Jin’s, and from his tone, he seems to be worried. A tired and irritated sigh is heard next, and Yamapi recognizes it as Ryo’s, judging from the way it sounded.

“Dude, what do you expect? Just cut him some slack. It’s Kame’s birthday in a few days, and it’s completely normal for anyone in his position to feel stressed out.”

There are some strange indescribable noises, which Yamapi can only assume it is Jin, trying to voice out his disagreement. “But Ryo, it’s been six months since Kame died!” Jin exclaims in distress, bits of frustration dripping from his words. “Surely you don’t think it’s healthy for him to keep deluding himself like that?!”

 _Kame’s dead._

Something cold and unforgiving suddenly set on the pit of his stomach, and he feels his hair stands on end, alarming him into an alerted shock. There’s the familiar pain of his chest being squeezed from the inside when he hears Jin’s tone. There’s finality there, like Jin’s sure that Kame’s really dead and will never come back to them, like it’s all already over, like – like Jin had _let go._

He fists his knuckles hard, feeling his nails digging into his skin.

Taking a deep breath, he stomps his foot on the floor and steps into the room as noisily as he could, alerting them of his presence and preventing them from realizing he’s been eavesdropping on their conversation. Upon seeing them, he pauses for a second, blinking, acting like he’s surprised to see them.

“Hey Jin, Ryo-chan.” He greets them cheerfully, deliberately not paying any attention to the guilty and deer-caught-on-a-headlamp look Jin’s sporting upon seeing him, or the narrowed eyes which Ryo directs his way, clearly suspicious.

“You’re early.” Ryo notes critically, like it’s actually a sin for him to come earlier.

Yamapi doesn’t fail to notice the slight accusation in Ryo’s tone, even though it’s carefully laced with a bit of disbelief and curiosity. He shrugs. “I didn’t manage to memorize yesterday’s dance steps, so…” he trails off, walks to another side of the room and lowers his bag on the floor, turning his back on both of his friends.

He feels more than sees Ryo and Jin exchange a glance behind him.

Then he hears a familiar giggle coming behind him, and when he turns around, he finds Kame perched on the table between Jin and Ryo, legs dangling from the table, a sunny smile decorated his thin lips.

“They were talking about you, you know.” Kame tells him sweetly, tilting his head to the side just so. “They think you’ve _started_ going mad.”

And it never ceases to disturb him how none other than him can hear or see Kame, even though he’s really there with them, looking the same as ever, complete with that particular aura that never fails to steal people’s attention even without meaning to. And just how fucking ironic it is that now everybody ignores him even _without meaning to_ , like he’s never there in the first place ( _because he isn’t_ ).

“But they’re wrong, don’t you agree?” Kame continues, that damn smile still in place, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “They’re wrong, because we both know you’re _already_ mad.”

Jin’s worrying his lower lip, and Yamapi senses it won’t be too long before he opens his mouth. He’s right. “Um, Pi, are you – “

“Do you think ghosts really exist?” he cuts him, carefully watching Kame from the corner of his eyes. Kame rolls his eyes. Ryo snorts. Jin blinks. He looks at Jin then, a carefree smile carefully plastered on his lips. “Nakamaru said Ueda can see ghosts. Is that true?”

“I’m not a ghost, you know.” Kame pouts. Yamapi ignores him.

“… er, I guess?” is all Jin manages to say, while Ryo visibly scoffs in disdain and mutters something that sounds like _oh please_.

“Why this sudden interest, anyway? Besides, the princess is rumored to be able to see fairies, not ghosts.”

Yamapi gives Ryo a curious look at the almost defensive tone in his voice, and shrugs. “You would know, wouldn’t you? Just humor me.”

“I know I’m beautiful, but a _fairy_?” Kame comments, sounding deeply amused.

Ryo sighs. “I don’t believe in fairies.” He says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back on his heels slightly. Yamapi raises an eyebrow at him. Ryo shakes his head and says, “just wait and see.”

Kame giggles, and appears entirely too cheerful for Yamapi’s liking. “This should be interesting.” He says, hopping off the table before latching himself onto Yamapi’s arm and settling there.

Yamapi tries to act indifferent about it and just ignore him as usual, he really does; but it’s hard to do so in a mirror-walled room that reflects everything back at you. And even if he _can’t_ feel it, it’s clear from their reflection that Kame’s holding onto his arm in almost intimate way despite the fact Kame can’t touch him (he has to admit Kame is one hell of an actor). The boy even goes as far as to rest his head on Yamapi’s shoulder – which is really unnerving, given that he can * _see_ * but can’t * _feel_ * it at all.

“Nice picture, isn’t it? You and I, pressed close together like the couple we never were?”

Hearing that comment, he can’t help but tear his eyes away from the mirror to look directly at Kame, who is smiling up at him innocently. Yamapi narrows his eyes.

“Pi, what are you looking at?” Jin asks curiously, looking over at the empty space Yamapi’s staring at – which is really where Kame’s currently standing on. Kame waves at him cheerfully, but Jin doesn’t give any indication that he has noticed the boy at all.

“Just a fly is all.” He shrugs and looks away.

“Your lack of imagination truly impresses me.” Kame says flatly, clearly unimpressed.

“I don’t believe in fairies.” Ryo repeats, looking at his watch boredly. “How unusual… _he’s late_!”

Just then, the door burst open with a blast of energy that would rival a raging storm, revealing one very thunderous looking Ueda Tatsuya.

Ryo sneers. “Oh, I’m so sorry, did I disturb your beauty sleep?”

Right. He has always been wondering whether Ryo is actually really courageous or just plain suicidal for doing things that he does (pissing other people off), but now it is clear it was the latter.

Ueda immediately zooms in on Ryo, singling him out, before slowly stalking his way to the man, with the grace of an angry predator getting ready to shred its annoying prey to pieces.

Yamapi and Jin instinctively take a step back.

“Oh dear… I forgot Tatchan and Ryo used to do this ‘cat and mouse’ thing all the time.” Kame giggles, his hand still pretends to hold that of Yamapi’s.

“I see… It’s you again, huh?” Ueda growls. Like, really growls, complete with a high timbre and all. Yamapi and Jin take another step back. “I don’t even know why I still bother to feel surprised; of course you—“

Ryo, the suicidal fool that he is, interrupts Ueda’s growling monologue with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure it’s fascinating, but unfortunately we have a more pressing issue here than your declaring your devotion toward me.”

Ueda growls louder, and Yamapi’s actually surprised none rushing to the room to check out whether there’s a loose wild animal or not.

Ryo tuts. “It’s our Fearless Leader, you see.” He begins, while Yamapi narrows his eyes at him and screaming the word ‘ _asshole!_ ’ to him with the intensity of his stare only. “He feels the need to question the existence of such creature as ghosts, and who’s better to tell him of the real fact other than you?”

That’s it; Ryo is toast. Toast, he would make sure of it himself.

…Once he could get away from Ueda’s piercing glare, that is.

Kame is…not exactly laughing, but with that much mirth in his eyes, it is hard to tell.

“Is. That. True?” Ueda grounds out, now slowly making his way toward him.

“For the record, I never doubts the existence of fairies,” he lies smoothly. “I have your word, and since I trust you, it is enough proof for me. It’s ghosts I’m wondering about.”

Kame raises an eyebrow at him. “Now I see why * _you_ * are the leader of NEWS.”

“And you’re suddenly all over it because…?” Ueda looks him in the eye, and before he could think better, his eyes glance to the right for a split second, to where Kame’s still hanging off his arm. It’s only for a split second—less, even—but still Ueda notices it and follows his line of sight, and---stops.

And Yamapi realizes why: were Ueda really able to see, then he would realize that he is actually staring at his dead bandmate in the eyes.

Kame smiles; a genuine one this time, with the corners of his lips barely lift up, but it’s there. It’s one that would be easily missed by other people, but it’s one that Yamapi has always watched out ( _hoping, wishing_ ) for—if only because it was—is—one that Kame never tries to direct at him.

His chest tightens.

An eternity later, the silence is broken by Ryo’s impatient “ _Well?_ ”

Ueda’s eyes flick back and forth between Yamapi and Kame, before he takes a step back and lets out a deep breath. “Please pardon me, but it seems I have a most important matter to attend to at this moment. I’ll be taking my leave then.” With a final glance in Kame’s direction, Ueda turns his back and walks away, leaving three bewildered people behind him.

“Huh? Wait, that’s all? No exclamation of fury, no—“ Ryo takes off after Ueda, his voice carrying off behind him.

Jin glances at him hesitantly for a second, and seemingly decides that leaving him alone would be a good idea, he turns tail and leaves, giving Yamapi an excuse he doesn’t bother to listen to.

The moment the door closes after Jin, Kame laughs; he laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs until he bends over, only slowing down to take a lungful breath he does not need.

“Well… that was…unexpected.” He tells none in particular.

“Does that mean Ueda can actually see you?” Yamapi is disgusted by how hopeful his voice sounds.

Kame tilts his head to the side slightly, giving him a taunting smile. “What do you think?”

His throat constricts. “Don’t be a liar.”

Kame rolls his eyes. “Kettle, meet the pot.” He extracts himself from Yamapi and bounces to the table, tracing its surface with the tips of his fingers. “For the record? I never gave you an answer. You deduced everything on your own, so please refrain from blaming me when it’s not to your liking.”

“Then stop making me misunderstand. You never did like to say what’s really on your mind.”

Kame turns to him at that remark. “Are we still talking about the same thing?”

His eyes flash. “I never realize we * _ever_ * do.”

With that, he leaves, knowing that Kame would just show up unexpectedly somewhere else.

He also refuses to admit that it comfort him—the fact that Kame’s ghost would never leave him, because he doesn’t. He really doesn’t.

One of these days, he’s sure he’d eventually believe it himself.

-

 _O brave prince, o brave prince_

 _Grant her a true kiss  
So she can be saved_

-

There was something strangely fascinating about the little machine on the small desk that made Yamapi unable to look away. Perhaps it was the way said little machine beeped every few seconds without fail. Or perhaps it was the way some uneven line kept being written continuously on its tiny monitor. Or perhaps it was the many wires that connected the little machines to the person lying still – too still – on the bed beside it.

When he shifted his attention a little, just a few inches from the left side of the machine, he saw white and red and black and red and blue and red and _red_ , but really, it was really hard for him to see any color other than red covering the person on the bed, even when said person wasn’t really covered in red. Well, not anymore at least.

 _“Pi…”_

His lungs constricted suddenly, making it a little hard for him to breathe properly – a feeling that by now had become familiar to him every time he remembered the accident.

Red for anger. Red for blood. Red for death.

“I won’t forgive you,” Yamapi said to the occupant of the bed, contempt layering his words in powerful waves. “I will never forgive you if you disappear on me.”

He waited for a moment and two and still he waited, but he heard no answer, and the little machine didn’t give out any other sound other than its usual endless ( _oh and how he wished it would really never end!_ ) beep beep beep…

“You better remember that.”

He left, but the scent of medicine and disinfectant _(and death)_ clung to him and refused to leave.

 _(Perhaps he didn’t want it to.)_

-

  
 _Really, what were you thinking?_ Ryo asked.

 _What now?_

 _Jin told me you’re friends with Ugly Face—I mean, really?_

 _What are you_ , Yamapi demanded, _my mother?_

 _Do ignore me as usual, but I’m telling you—the kid’s way more messed up than you, and that’s saying something._

 _He’s a big boy, Ryo. I’m sure he can handle a heartbreak or two._

Ryo smirked. _Oh, but he’s not the one I’m worried about._

And off he went, leaving a bewildered Yamapi in his wake.

-

  



	2. Chapter 2

_Is it you I want,  
Or just the notion of  
A heart to wrap around  
So I can find my way around?_

 _(Rain – Breaking Benjamin)_

  


-

  
 _…and what do you think death is?_ Yamapi asked.

Kame looked at him, and then said, _You._

  


-

  
“Did you hate me?”

Yamapi frowns. “You’re using past tense.” He informs him a bit slowly. “Why is that?”

“I have no doubt regarding your feelings towards the _present_ me. What I’d like to know is your feelings towards me before I – disappeared.” His voice lowers at the last word, almost as if he was uncomfortable saying it at all.

Yamapi looks right at him. “Doesn’t matter anymore, does it? It won’t change anything.”

Kame tilts his head to the side, seeming to be considering it carefully. “But it _will_. Maybe not on my person, but have you heard about these things called guilt and regret? I heard they’re going to haunt a person until—“

“Have we ever had the same conversation— _before_?” he cut him, and not only for the sake of stopping the flow of words, but also because he’s honestly intrigued. There’s this… feeling, like déjà vu maybe, that nags at him relentlessly and begs him to find what it is that seems… _not_ right.

A flicker in Kame’s eyes. And then he turns away, away from him. “You tell me.”

Kame’s back is on him, so he can’t make out Kame’s expression, but is it… sadness that he hears in Kame’s voice for a second there?

He hesitates. “Ah. Never mind, then.” He looks at the door, and back at Kame again, but Kame’s still not looking at him. Yamapi stares. _The soft ray of the sunshine through the balcony glass doors in the afternoon. The subtle ruffle of the leaves of the plants outside the doors. The open window in the kitchen. A coat thrown carelessly over the back of the coach. The noise coming from the flat screen TV. The stiffness of that back as it refuses to acknowledge his presence._

 _Why are you hiding from me?_

 _Contrary to what your fangirls would like to say, the world doesn’t revolve around you, you know._

Something is… off. They talk, they argue, and they fight. If they make up, then there would be meals and a bit of what Yamapi refuses to call cuddling. And if they don’t, which is more often than not, one of them—Kame Kame Kame Kame _Kame_ —would storm out in a huff of cold fury and even colder expression.

He blinks.

There’s only darkness, accompanied by artificial lights from the sleepless city beyond the balcony. The leaves do not ruffle. The kitchen window is closed. There’s no coat over the back of the couch, and the TV is turned off. Every variable changes, except for one: Kame’s still there.

 _Why is he still there?_ Yamapi stares at him in confusion.

It’s then that Kame turns to him, his expression… not empty—not exactly—but it’s something that Yamapi doesn’t know how to categorize either, and it _gnaws_ at him. The expression is quite familiar, even if the scene is all wrong wrong wrong _wrong_ —

“Why are you looking at me like that?” a mere curiosity, nothing more, and Yamapi really needs to stop looking for something that isn’t there.

“Like what?” he tries to make it light and casual, but halfway through, he chokes on his own words and he only sounds strangled instead.

“Like… _that._ Funny, I guess, except not in the humorous way. More like… weird? Unusual? Or disbelieving, perhaps?” the completely flat way Kame delivers it makes him sound as if he is only stating hard fact and nothing else, even if the amused smirk on his lips completely at odds with his tone.

Yamapi swallows. “There’s something you’re _not_ telling me.”

Kame rolls his eyes in exasperation—a gesture that is alarmingly becoming quite familiar to Yamapi. “More like, there’s something _I’m_ telling you.”

 _You don’t know the half of it. I’m not withholding anything, but you keep asking the wrong questions._

An unamused snort escapes his parted lips—hollow and bitter with a slight taste of desperation. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

Kame doesn’t look away. “Exactly what you think it is.”

Except he doesn’t even know what he’s thinking, if at all, considering he feels as if he was only going through the motion, only doing what his instinct and his body tells him to, without even consulting the better part of his head since apparently his brain has taken a vacation along with his sanity, _and_ totally forgot to tell the rest of his body of that little fact.

“I’m tired of this,” Yamapi says, and _maybe_ it’s the truth. No, it _is_ the truth, and he just couldn’t admit to himself how much it terrifies him.

“I know.” Kame says, eyes still honed in on him—as if transfixed, as if he was unable to look away.

Yamapi’s eyes—in the end, _by_ the end, always always _always_ —find their way to Kame even when he doesn’t see anyone or anything at all. _Every variable changes except Kame_ , and he always wonders about that little fact, since it is logically impossible for inanimate object to change while human constantly evolve and grow and change.

“Why are you still here, really?” soft, low, near a whisper, and it would be a wonder if Kame heard it at all. But then he remembers, oh right, _ghosts._

“I _can’t._ ” His tone is accusing, and the look in his eyes makes sure Yamapi know it is directed at _him._

Right. As if Yamapi even has any idea what’s going on anymore.

“I’m tired,” he repeats, and walks away without even a backward glance.

He tells himself he’s not running away, but who’s he kidding?

All the way, Kame’s gaze burns into his back.

  


-

  
“What do you think Death is?”

Kame asked him that once, so very long ago, when they were lying together on the grass with the moon shining softly high above them. It was one night in summer, with cicadas chirping happily and fireflies twinkling joyfully around them, and he still couldn’t figure out what on earth he was thinking when he agreed to get outside with Kame, instead of just staying in their air-conditioned room. At least if he had stayed, he wouldn’t have been soaked wet in his own sweat like that.

He looked at Kame then, but Kame wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at the sky, a thoughtful look on his face. Yamapi was really fascinated by the faint light illuminating his silhouette, making his face lines look softer, translucent even, and he just couldn’t look away.

“I don’t know. Terrible thing, perhaps?”

Kame raised an eyebrow at him. “…perhaps?”

“Yeah, well. It’s not like I’ve ever been dead, mind you.” He shrugged. “Why the sudden interest anyway?”

Kame smiled – just a small twitch upwards of the corner of his mouth, nothing really noticeable, but still Yamapi was mesmerized by it. He totally blamed the booze in his system and the moonlight for the fact that he couldn’t keep his eyes off Kame’s face.

He shifted and—subtly—scooted closer to Kame, his right hand almost touched Kame’s left one, and yet still he couldn’t bring himself to bridge that small distance between them. Just a small brush, a slight twitch, just _a little more._

“Nah. Just curious, is all.” Kame closed his eyes for a moment and arched his back on the ground, as if he was trying to take in his surrounding at once: the smell, the feel, the air, _everything_. Yamapi swallowed. “I mean, in the movies, the one thing that gets threatened the most is one’s life, right? Some even dares to sacrifice others’ as long as they get to live.” Kame turned his head to the side, slowly opening his eyes, looking right at Yamapi. Yamapi felt his mouth suddenly go dry. “Which means, death is really the most terrible thing that could happen to anyone.”

“…or to your loved ones, really.” Yamapi added.

Kame laughed. “Or to your loved ones.” He agreed.

But there was something – _something_ in the way Kame said it that didn’t feel right to Yamapi. Even when Kame smiled and smiled and smiled and _smiled_. Even when Kame’s eyes sparkling brightly under the starry sky.

“You’re saying you’re afraid of life.” Yamapi observed, meaning it only as an off-handed comment, but then Kame slowly – _very slowly_ – turned to look at him, and he saw in Kame’s face something so _raw,_ so _unguarded_ that he found himself frozen on the spot by the intensity of it. “Wha –“

“Don’t,” Kame said, and kissed him.

…and in his fierce kiss was an honest plea to close the subject and forget all about it.

  


-

  
Once, Yamapi got shitfaced so hard he blabbered to Toma things he would never admit while sober. He didn’t even know what he said, but whatever it was, it put a troubled look on Toma’s face.

“But Pi-chan,” Toma said, a frown creasing his forehead, “you’ve never felt _nothing_ towards Kame-chan.”

Cue an indignant spluttering on Yamapi’s part, accompanied by mangled words that didn’t mean much.

“That’s why I never understand why you insist on calling your little arrangement with Kame-chan _’a one night stand’._ Especially since you fail so hard at the ‘one night’ part of the term. You do realize it stops being a ‘one night stand’ when it happens more than once, right?” Toma looked more than a little worried now, but it only infuriated Yamapi further.

“It still doesn’t mean anything.” Yamapi glared.

“Then why,” Toma asked, “are you worrying about it?”

  


-

(This was what Toma didn’t say but Yamapi still heard: _you_ want it to mean something.)

-

  
“What do you think death is?”

He’s watching him now, his every reaction to that simple question, and he sees a moment when surprise is shown on Kame’s face, but then it’s quickly gone only to be replaced by a slow spread of a confident smirk over thin lips.

“I am Death.”

He stares at him. Did Kame just…?

Yamapi _can’t breathe_. “What’s that supposed to mean?” _Have you--forgiven me now?_

“What do you think?” Kame says, with a smile that tells nothing and everything at once.

Yamapi looks him; _really_ looks at him--this sorry excuse for a ghost, who in all appearance looks exactly like Kame, and wonders, not for the first time--is it really only in appearance this _thing_ resembles Kame?

Said _thing_ only keeps smiling at him.

Standing up, he takes a last lingering glance at Kame’s form before walking past him, his hand hovering over the top of Kame’s head in a way that would make it a pat on the head--if only he can touch him. “If only—if only you’re really the real Kame.” He says without looking back, a resignation in his voice as he lets his hand linger about Kame’s arm and squeezes it as if on reflex—

He freezes.

– It holds.

“Wha –“ his eyes widen, and he instantly turns back to Kame at the exact time Kame tries to turn around and all he manages to hear is a desperate sounding “Yama –“ before he sees Kame fade into nothingness right in front of his very eyes.

He stares.

What. What. What.

Eyes blown wide, he stares at the space where Kame has just been a fraction of second ago, trying to digest just what on earth exactly has happened; it’s then he realizes that he can no longer feel that cold prickle—that sharp itch at the back of his neck—that somehow has always signified Kame’s presence.

 _the moment you can touch me is the moment I will vanish from your sight – forever._

“Kame…?” he tries, and pauses, waiting for the expected reply. He casts his eyes about the room, trying to find a glimmer, a shadow, something. But still there’s none--

There’s none else in the room.

“Kame.” He tries again, a bit more insistently this time, and waits a beat. But still the dragging silence is the only thing that dares to answer him. “Kame – KAME!”

His own harsh breathing roaring in his ears, he runs to the living room, the bathroom, the kitchen, the balcony-- _anywhere_. But—but _nothing_. The shadow he finds is his own, the voice he hears is his own, and the only movement he catches is of his own making.

He has never noticed before how the stillness of his own room can be so deafening.

  


-

  
 _The thing is,_ Ryo said, _Ugly Face never does anything halfway. When he does something, he does it with all his might, with all his heart,_ with everything he has, _and it’s. Most people can’t handle that._

Yamapi only flicked the ashes from his cigarette.

 _Can you imagine,_ Ryo said again, _being the center of such intense devotion? It’s—terrifying, is what it is._

Yamapi looked at him. _Speaking from experience, are you?_ ”

A flash of Ryo’s teeth. _Wouldn’t you like to know._

 _Okay, fine, so Kame’s a little intense._ Yamapi said. _Still don’t see what this has got to do with me._

When Ryo looked back at him, there was pity in his eyes. _Tell me,_ Ryo said, _how many people have you been sleeping with ever since you slept with him?_

Yamapi opened his mouth to answer, blinked, and then closed his mouth again, a frown marring his forehead. _Shit._

 _Exactly._ Ryo said. But this time, he didn’t smirk, and. And somehow, that was _worse_.

  


-

  
He waited; he had waited for a full night, just to be sure, but. But Kame never comes back. No sign of him, no _feel_ of him, and Yamapi is. Getting desperate.

“Ueda,” he grips the older boy’s arms, “please. Please, tell him to come back to me. Get him back to me. I—I just.”

The first thing he does upon arriving on the Johnny’s Ent HQ is barge into KAT-TUN’s practice session, grab Ueda, and drag him to the emergency stairs--where none would interrupt them.

“What,” Ueda says, “are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the ghost of your dead teammate! I’m talking about Kame, and don’t you dare acting all stupid on me now, because I know you’ve seen him, I know you’ve looked at him—“

“I repeat,” Ueda says in his no-nonsense voice, “what are you talking about?”

“It’s Kame, he. He’s—“ the words rush out of his mouth, tumbling after each other, in a hurry to leave, “missing. He’s gone last night, and he didn’t come back, and you’ve got to help me getting him back; I know you can—after all, that day—that day, Bakanishi and Ryo-chan were there too, but you were the only one who—the only one who looked right at him, him by my side, and—“

“Yamapi.” Ueda puts a hand up in front of his face, effectively stopping his tirade. “I think I know what you’re talking about, but—“

“Then you could bring him back?” he looks at Ueda hopefully.

“BUT,” Ueda starts again, “but I only saw you. And Ryo. And Jin. And that’s it; I didn’t see anyone else, and I certainly didn’t see Kame.”

Like the ground is snatched from beneath him; the feeling is quite disconcerting. “But I saw how you looked at Kame—at the space beside me that day! I know you’ve seen something, so don’t you dare telling me—“

“I did see something,” Ueda cuts him, “but it wasn’t Kame. What I saw was Jin’s reflection on the mirror wall behind you, gesturing at me in silly poses to—to humor you. Or something. And then I left, because I just didn’t want to get caught up in the stupid game you guys were playing. And that’s it.” Ueda shrugs, though his eyes are not—unkind. “I guess you must have watched me too closely to see Jin and Ryo on the other side of the room.”

Yamapi stares at Ueda, like Ueda has just taken the very foundation of his world and he’s left to watch it crumble into ruin. “What?”

“There’s no such thing,” Ueda says carefully, “as ghost, Yamapi.”

Then—who— _what_ it was, the thing that had invaded Yamapi’s life for the last few months, masquerading as the dead and buried Kamenashi Kazuya? The thing that always seemed to know his innermost thoughts and desires? Just what—

“I,” Yamapi says, “had to go. Please,” he puts a hand over his mouth, trying his hardest not to _scream_ , “excuse me.”

He runs; he runs and runs and runs and _runs_ \--ignoring Ueda’s shouts, ignoring everyone and everything--until his lungs burst, until his legs burn, until he could feel nothing but the physical pain on his body, until he could think nothing but the way his body screams at him to just _stop._

  


-

  
In the end, Kame’s condition was never stabilized enough to allow visitors, and the doctor only let them watch from behind a glass. The doctors had given him plenty explanations for the reason, but in his state, he could barely process normal conversation, let alone medical mumbo-jumbo. All he knew was just—just that Kame might suffer a long time, that there was a possibility he might not come out of his coma, and—and.

And that the probability of his recovery rated below ten percent, and _there was nothing they could do about it._

Yamapi didn’t think he could stand for it.

So he didn’t.

-

The moment Takki sees him entering Johhny’s HQ building a week later, Takki instantly drags him into the nearest room and demands him _what’s wrong._

Yamapi stares at him. “But nothing’s wrong.”

Takki looks at him in a way that reminds Yamapi of his own mother, with that reprimand look in his eyes and the creased lines of worry on his forehead. “Then what’s this I heard about you seeing a ghost, spacing out all the time, and chatting up thin air?”

“Jin is a babble mouth.” He replies automatically.

Takki’s eyebrow arches up. “Actually, Koyama and Shige were the ones who told me.”

“Oh.” He pauses. And then adds, “Koyama and Shige are babble mouths.”

Takki smacks him on the head. “Give it up already.” He sighs, then in a quieter voice says, “Is it because of Kame?”

Yamapi only looks at Takki blankly. “You should stop making it as if the world revolves around Kame. His head is big enough as it is.”

Takki stares him down for a few second, lips slightly parted. Then Yamapi winces as Takki proceeds to destroy his stylist’s work by tiredly running a hand through his artfully-messed-up hair.

“So I was right after all.” There’s something decidedly strange in Takki’s voice, like—sympathy? Resignation? “You’re still grieving him, even after all this time. So it’s true, then, that you’re still thinking that you’re to blame for his death?”

Yamapi stares at him. Is that… _glitter,_ in Takki’s hair?

“I won’t even pretend to know what you’re talking about.” Yamapi says. “Also, I really hope you don’t have to go before a camera in the next hour, because your fans would burst into tears once they saw that atrocious hairdo.”

Takki goes on as if he didn’t hear him speak. “I understand that it would be Kame’s death anniversary in a few days, so I guess it’s kind of expected for you to act weird about it, but you should try to accept that it wasn’t your fault that Kame didn’t make it out alive.”

Leaning back on his heels, he crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head to the side slightly. “Tsubasa-san would totally disown you for the way you dreadfully mistreated your hair style. And for putting on glitter. _Glitter._ What the hell.”

Takki blinks. Then he narrows his eyes. “Stop trying to distract me. We’re talking about _you_ here, not me.”

“But the glitter is totally vying for my attention. It’s just so…shiny. And sparkly. And glittery. And completely distracting.” He tells Takki’s hair. “Is glitter a new black or something?”

 _“Yamashita Tomohisa.”_

At the stern tone, he forces his eyes away from Takki’s hair and focuses on Takki’s face instead. “What?” he gives Takki the wronged look of the innocents.

“Just…” Takki gestures with his hand, “tell me what it is that’s been bothering you?”

Yamapi only looks at him blankly.

“Something to do with ghosts?” Takki prompts expectantly.

Yamapi studies Takki’s face, wondering where this is going, if he’s only teasing him or something. But all he can see in his senior’s face is undisguised worry and genuine concerns – for _him_. Then he feels some familiar pang in his gut, coiling low in his stomach. It feels like guilt.

Oh well. If Takki couldn’t be trusted, then he doesn’t know who could. Besides, he _owes_ him that much.

His nails digging into his arms, Yamapi says, “But there’s no ghost.” He frowns. “Not anymore, at least.”

But that little admission seems to interest Takki. “…Not anymore?”

“Yeah, well.” Yamapi shrugs. “There used to be one following me around, you know. Since a few weeks ago, I think. But then suddenly he just went _WHAM!_ and I’ve never seen him again.”

“I see. And this… _ghost,_ ” it sounds as if it pains Takki to even say it, “it looked like… Kame?”

“Well, no.” Yamapi looks at Takki as if he was crazy. “It didn’t _look_ like Kame. It _was_ Kame.”

Takki’s eyebrows disappear behind his admittedly long bangs.

“And you’re so sure about this because…?”

“He – it – _he_ knew things only Kame knew.” Yamapi frowns. And then adds, “That, and the fact that he dressed like Kame used to. None could really imitate such random hit and miss fashion sense like that. Which was-- _is_ \--annoying. One would think that living with me, who always makes it every year to the best five in The Most Stylist Men in Japan list, would improve his fashion sense, but nooo. It was like, he did it on purpose to annoy me.”

“I…see.” Takki says. “You know, this is the first time you’ve ever admitted to having ‘something’ with Kame. So… you lived together? It was true then, that you two were an ‘item’?”

“…An item.” Yamapi deadpans.

Takki raises an eyebrow at him. “You know, as in ‘lovers’?”

Yamapi looks at him blankly. Lovers. _Lovers._

 _Hey, what are we?_

“Lovers.” He says, blinking, rolling the word around on his tongue, savoring the taste delicately. And then he laughs – a loud, full-blown laugh that borders on hysterical and has him clutching his stomach from the force of it after a few moments.

“Holy shit. You thought Kame and I were _lovers_?” he continues to laugh till he feels his eyes sting and his lungs empty, till he feels as if he couldn’t go on anymore. “We weren’t _lovers_. We had something, yes, but it wasn’t love. It was never about love.”

Takki stares at him. “Pi-chan, really, you shouldn’t have to –“

“No, just hear me out. It was only supposed to be a fling, what Kame and I had; but then it grew into something that eventually couldn’t be controlled anymore, and we let it – _we let it_. If I had to give an example, then it would be best to describe it as an experiment.”

Takki looks decidedly uncomfortable. Yamapi doesn’t blame him, really, considering he himself isn’t feeling very sane at the moment.

“Lovers?” He snorts. “Oh _please._ We don’t even _like_ each other.”

Takki bites his lip. “But Pi-chan, Kame-chan did li—“

“Do you remember,” Yamapi cuts him, “I was the only person in Kame’s hospital room when the machines started going crazy, and the nurses started rushing in?”

Takki hesitantly nods.

“It wasn’t a coincidence; _it wasn’t a coincidence_ that Kame stopped breathing while I was there, because I,” he stops. Takes a breath. And then, eyes entirely on Takki’s own, tells him, “Because I was the one who _removed his oxygen mask and cut off his air supply._ ”

“So you were right, Takki. The accident didn’t kill him.” He smiles his sincerest smile. “ _I_ did.”

  


-

  
“My point exactly: death in itself is the utmost freedom one could wish for.”

“No.” Yamapi said. “No, it’s not. Death is a coward’s last escape. Death is not—is never—an answer. Death is. Death is—“

“Yamapi,” Kame cut him, “ _breathe._ ”

Yamapi did—try inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

“We’re drunk.” Yamapi began. “We’ve had too much to drink. We’re wasted. Our minds are no longer in the right places. Let’s just forget this— _let’s just forget_.”

Kame looked at him. A bottomless dark pit in his eyes. “I’m saying—“ Kame’s eyes were still on him, “—that it’s _not_ easier to leave than to be left behind. I’m saying—“ his voice hitched, “—there’re times when one who doesn’t want to leave just had to, for the better of the one left behind.”

Yamapi laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. “You really need to work better on your metaphor. Death is about the worst metaphor one could use, since nothing—nothing is funny when it comes to death. Also, is this—is this your way of breaking it up with me?”

Kame’s lips thinned.

Yamapi blinked. Parted his lips. Closed them. Blinked some more. And then he threw his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed until he was gasping for breath.

“Unbelievable.” Yamapi says, turning his back and away, hands raking up his hair; it was either that or punch the wall, and he couldn’t afford to hurt himself since he had a shooting first thing tomorrow. “Un-fucking-believable. So now you’ve finally gotten bored with me, you decided it’d be better to just throw me aside like a fucking broken toy. You treated all your lovers like this, or am I just _that_ special?”

Kame punched him.

(and then the accident happened, and regret was suddenly everybody’s bestfriend.)

  


-

  
“I,” Takki begins, “don’t know what makes you think what you think, but. But it seems to me you’ve misunderstood some things. For one, Kame-chan _did_ like you;” Yamapi opens his mouth to protest, but immediately closes it again the moment Takki raises a hand to silence him.

…some habits are just hard to break.

“Besides, he wouldn’t spend so much time with you otherwise, don’t you think?”

Yamapi snorts. “Hello, have you met him? Mr. Too Polite To Say No probably thought it would be bad for his rep if he kept avoiding the leader of NEWS. He was kind of hypocrite that way.”

Takki only regards him thoughtfully. “Then why,” Takki asks, “did _you_ spend so much time with him?”

Yamapi blinks. “…Huh?”

“Say Kame was really with you only so he wouldn’t look bad. But Pi-chan,” Takki says, “that still didn’t explain why _you_ spent your time with him. Ezpecially since I know you’re not the kind of guy who does things just to please others.”

Yamapi blinks some more. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Repeats. “…what?”

Takki waves a hand expansively, like he always does when he’s trying to distract himself. “Everybody is entitled to their own opinion. Some people see the same thing, only to describe it differently. There’s no right or wrong; there’s only _how_ we see it, and our presupposition beforehand. So, Pi-chan,” Takki says, “I just had to ask: how, exactly, did you see Kame?”

Yamapi stares at him. “…wha—”

What Yamapi remembers most about Kame is not his smile, his eyes, his hair, his too-thin frame, or his spidery fingers. Instead, it’s the fact that Kame always bruised easily, and how he always healed longer than anybody else Yamapi ever knew—both in body, and mind. That was why Kame always kept everything close to his chest. That was why despite his apparent easy-going persona, getting close to Kame was like pulling teeth. The ones who ever got close enough was his bandmates, and his bandmates only.

Kame didn’t seem to have any problem exchanging quips with Koki, or bullying Nakamaru, or conspiring with Ueda, or mocking Taguchi’s every pun, or laughing carelessly with Jin. He didn’t seem to mind letting his bandmates see the real him, while--

While he was with Yamapi, it was always polite smile this, careful grin that, controlled laugher here, calculated eye-roll there—

“He just—didn’t seem _real_.” Yamapi frowns.

There’s this…strange look upon Takki’s face, like. Like—sympathy? “Oh Pi-chan.” Takki says. “Then what about his…ghost?”

He was cruel and insensitive with no regard to anyone’s privacy, and always did what he wanted without a care in the world—something the real Kamenashi Kazuya wouldn’t do, and exactly like—

Exactly like Yamapi had always hoped Kame to be.

“Oh.” Yamapi says, covering his mouth with a hand. “Oh.”

 _You_ willed _me into existence,_ ghost-Kame had said.

 _There’s no such thing,_ Ueda had said carefully, _as ghost, Yamapi._

“I kept waiting for you to realize it, but—but you never did.” A voice says.

Yamapi turns toward it so fast he nearly gets a whiplash.

Kame’s voice rings out even as his body is still in the process of materializing—starting from his shoes, his legs, his waist, his chest, his neck, and then his face and wavy hair—which is the same length and style as it was _before_ the accident, just like the clothes he used to appear in, just like the accessories he used to wear.

Why—why did he never even realize it?

“So what, you’re really just a figment of my imagination?” his voice breaks at the last two words, like a dam that’s about to break. That’s why this… _thing_ always seemed to know which button to push; that ‘s why this _thing_ always seemed to know everything about him—his desires, his fears, his hopes…

All because he was _him_.

“In essence, yes. But if you want to get technical, then it’d be more appropriate to say I’m the manifestation of your… _guilt."_

“What—are you talking about?”

“This sort of thing,“ Kame says, “has a way of coming back to us, even when we’re convinced they’ve gone away; or that we totally do not feel it.” Then Kame looks right at him, “this thing called guilt and regret.”

“Seriously?” Yamapi has a sudden desire to _laugh_. “ _seriously?_ ”

“Pi-chan, who are you talking to?” Takki’s voice, sounding worried and concerned, pushes trough the haze in Yamapi’s mind; but he ignores it—just like he used to ignore everything when Kame was in the room.

“I guess I’m meant to remind you that—you and I? We haven’t always been this way. And—and I know you regretted how we’ve lashed out at each other just before the accident happened—“

“Geez, I wonder how you’d know such thing.” Yamapi says in his most deadpan voice.

“But,” Kame says, “but we actually managed to—to reconcile, just, just before it--”

“What,” Yamapi says, feeling like an old broken record, “are you talking about?”

Kame smiles.

It makes Yamapi wants to punch himself for ever putting such a broken smile there, on Kame’s face.

“Try to remember, Pi. If even _I_ could remember, then you must have, too.”

  


-

  
Kame punched him.

In his unbalanced state, the force was enough to send him sprawling to the floor in an undignified heap. Yamapi was just so surprised it didn’t even register until he found one of his hands grasping the cold marble of the floor, while his other hand tracing his bruised jaw, the area behind it a little tender and just—numb.

“You punched me!” Yamapi claimed indignantly, staring up at Kame in absolute astonishment, because— _what the hell._

Then Kame went after him—his knees on either side of Yamapi’s thighs, his hands grasping Yamapi’s collar, pulling him upright; then he felt a hand detached itself from his collar, and Yamapi instantly closed his eyes, bracing for the pain from the hand that was obviously about to punch him again—

Soft, chapped lips suddenly touched his own.

Surprised, Yamapi opened his eyes again, only to see Kame’s face so close to his own, sharing the same breath, their noses nearly touching. Kame’s palm pressed against Yamapi’s unbruised cheek, gently. While Kame’s other hand—is on Yamapi’s nape, just tight enough to tell Yamapi it was there on purpose.

“Stop—“ Yamapi choked out, voice tight, “—doing this. Stop—confusing me.” He tried to throw Kame off, hands pushing at Kame’s chest, Kame’s shoulder, but Kame wouldn’t budge.

“Then listen!” Kame’s fingers were pressing against Yamapi’s cheeks, his nails threatening to graze into the skin. “You never, ever, listen!”

“Then stop. Lying. To me!” Yamapi screamed, feeling all the frustration and worry and anger and hurt mounting up, crowding against each other until they fell over. “Was it amusing to you, watching me bend to your every whim, trying and failing to get you what you want?!” he tries to duck his head, but Kame’s fingers on his face wouldn’t let him. “I,” Yamapi tried again, “I don’t—did you get a good laugh, then? Out of this sick little game, did you—“

“It was never a game to me.” Kame said quietly, his tone stood in contrast with Yamapi’s just a second ago. “Since the start, it was never a game to me. I—I was just. Didn’t know what to do.”

“What?” which was the only coherent thing Yamapi could say right now.

“I wanted to stay,” Kame said, “that first time. But you—you kept sending me this, this look, like I was _amazing_ or something, and I just. I couldn’t handle it.”

“What—what are you talking about?”

“Remember—remember how Takki told you that you’ve never been a good actor when you had no script? That night was no different.” Kame’s fingers are _shaking._ “Your eyes—they told me I might just be the most wonderful thing they had ever seen, and it--.” He took a deep breath, “—it _scared_ me.”

Yamapi could only stare at him.

“I was scared, and paranoid, and I just couldn’t make myself believe it. I was looking for a release, not an attachment; and yet you gave me both—that night.”

“I told you—stop lying!” Yamapi shouted, feeling hope blabbering inside his chest, teasing him, taunting him, and he. He didn’t think he could take it anymore if it would turn out to be empty. “Stop lying to me; stop talking. Just—“

“And I told you to listen!” Kame shouted, raising his voice unexpectedly. “This is what I’m talking about! I kept telling you things, I kept leaving you chances, and yet you just put a blind eye and closed your ears from me, and I. _I was waiting._ ” He bit his lower lip, and then, in a much lower voice continued, “I kept waiting for you to either accept me or reject me _but you never picked up a clue._ ”

Kame was breathing hard now; Yamapi could see the rise and fall of his chest, could feel the trembling of his hands, could sense the desperation radiating off of him, and this. This was just—too much.

“So what, you ran away _because_ you realized I liked you?” Yamapi was really tempted to start laughing again. But he didn’t, since if he did, this time he might just never stop, even when all this was still _not funny_. Because, really, who would ever believe that?

Except.

The thing was, Yamapi was not used to be the one in control. Sure, when he was among his own group, he was the one they count on to make all the hard decisions. But whenever Kame was involved, all responsibilities fell so naturally on the boy. And the boy also always looked so at ease whenever he was at the center stage that Yamapi had started to wait for Kame’s cue, for Kame’s signal, before he started making his own moves.

He was just not used to be the one in charge when Kame was involved.

And that was exactly the case, wasn’t it? From the start, he always thought Kame was the one in charge. But the truth was—the truth was, it was _him_ all along. For once, he was the one in charge, and Kame was the one who moved according to his cue, and. And it was just so fucking surreal he ended up thinking it was only his imagination.

“It was—“ Kame struggled to find the appropriate expression, “—unexpected. Then I started leaving pieces of my heart around for you to pick up, but you kept pretending you didn’t know what I’m doing!”

That…was probably because he didn’t. Know, that was. Because, really, _what the hell_.

“Then why,” Yamapi said, “are you breaking up with me?”

Again, Kame’s lips thinned. For a few seconds, he was just looking at Yamapi, with—with this… _look_ in his eyes, one that made Yamapi wanted to—

One that made Yamapi _wanted._

“I want a new start.” Kame finally said, soft. “I just… couldn’t stand this anymore.”

“Wha—“ Yamapi felt numb. A new start. _Without—me?_

Then Kame pinched both his cheeks, before smacked them lightly, which was just-- _Ow!_

“I’m—“ Kame began, “--breaking _it_ up with you. Not—“ he gestured wildly with his hand, “—breaking up _with_ you.”

It took Yamapi an embarrassingly long time to process that statement. And then he just had to duck and hide his face, because—um.

“That’s why,” Kame said, tracing a finger down Yamapi’s cheekbone, “I told you to listen. But you just had to ignore me and just assumed everything, didn’t you?”

“Um.” Yamapi said, since he was kind of at a loss for words and all.

A finger under his jaw brought him to face Kame, and the look upon Kame’s face was just so—Yamapi just didn’t—it was just--

“Hey,” Kame said, and his voice was just as…tender as the look on his face. “Would you like to—do over? Us, that is.” There was a twitch to the corner of Kame’s lips, like beginning of a smile. “Properly, this time.”

Yamapi felt like he might actually combust due to all these feelings inside his chest if he opened his mouth, so he just pulled Kame into his lap and started kissing the living daylight out of him. It—wasn’t exactly a good kiss, since it was—too sloppy, too fast, too slow, too hard, too soft, _too much_ \--like he couldn’t get enough.

But he thought it was okay though, since Kame laughed into the kiss.

“You’ve got a rehearsal practice in an hour. Let’s just,” Kame said, pressing his forehead into Yamapi’s, his hands on Yamapi’s shoulders, “continue this later. After all—“ he laughed again as Yamapi started leaving kisses down his jaw, down his neck, “we’ve got all the time in the world, right?”

Yamapi cursed whoever it was had arranged his schedule.

“Sure.” Yamapi conceded, long-sufferingly. Besides, Kame was smiling, smiling, smiling--

He just never thought it would be Kame’s last smile.

  


-

  
“I’ve never, “ ghost-Kame is saying, “been sure what made you suppressed the memory, but.”

Ah.

“I,” Yamapi says, because, what else could he say to that? But. But what he really wants to say to Kame is _Please—don’t look at me like that. Don’t look at me—with those sad, sad eyes. don’t--_

“I guess you must have tried to erase the accident from your memory, and in the process—in the process, you also accidentally erased the memory prior to the accident—just to be safe.” Kame’s voice’s gone quiet again. “Even as that memory was one that—one that was vital, to you. And me.”

“I,” Yamapi tries again, “am sorry. For—“ loving you, forgetting you, killing you, misunderstanding you, _everything_ , “being such an insensitive jerk.”

Kame laughs—the sudden, startled but pleased kind, the one that brings a smile to his eyes. “Oh dear.” Kame says. “What would I do without you?”

“Cry. Repeatedly.” Yamapi grins his charming grin. “Because I’m just that awesome. And unreplaceable.”

”And loud, too. Let’s not forget that part.“ Kame shakes his head. But he’s still smiling though, so that’s okay.

“Pi-chan.” Takki says.

“Might as well you’re no longer here, though.” Yamapi says. “Because one thing that I’ve just realized? Is that, no matter how much time we have, we still would never know everything about each other, and that. That is strangely…reassuring.”

“Oh? Looks like somebody’s been through some soul-searching lately~” Kame’s biting his lip in that way he has when he’s trying not to laugh.

“So.”

“So?”

“Won’t you,” Yamapi says, reaching out a hand to Kame, palm up, “come away with me?”

This—this Kame might just be a version in Yamapi’s head, a vision he created out of desperation, but. But still his heart hammering thunder in his chest; still his stomach does aflutter; still his ears roaring loud into his brain; still, he is left uncertain.

And still, Kame smiles and smiles and smiles at him. And then takes his hand.

“With pleasure.” Kame says.

Yamapi smiles back.

Somewhere in his peripheral vision, Takki is asking him _what’s wrong, are you okay, who’re you speaking to, please speak to me, dam you Pi--_

But all he could see at this second is Kame and the way he smiles at him and how much he--

-

  
 _O brave prince, o brave prince_

 _Grant her a true kiss  
So she can be free_

  


-

  
He stared at Kame’s form, laid on the white cotton sheet of the hospital bed; the boy looked deadly pale--with his skin losing their color, his closed eyelids, the near-frown on his forehead, and the downturn of his lips.

The machines kept humming steadily.

He pressed his palm against Kame’s cheek; it felt strangely clammy and feverish at the same time. Or maybe it was just him. He couldn’t be sure anymore.

Softly, softly, carefully, as if Kame might break—and he just might, in his current condition—Yamapi pressed both his palms on Kame’s cheeks—just like Kame used to when he kissed him—letting his face hovering close on top of Kame’s, the tips of their noses touching. And then, just as carefully, his left hand traveled downward, fingering the pulse point on Kame’s neck, while. While his other hand traced the edge of the oxygen mask, stopping at the connected tube. With the same care, slowly, he pulled the mask off and replaced it with his lips—just as his finger was pressing just hard enough on Kame’s pulse point.

He didn’t keep his eyes open. He needed to make this as real as possible, and didn’t want his last memory of Kame was of his lifeless face.

Here, right now, on this moment, he could pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist; here, in this space, there was only him and Kame and none else; here, he could pretend everything was alright, that he had control over every little thing.

Once he no longer felt Kame’s pulse, he opened his eyes—only to jump back in shock, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

Kame’s eyes were _open._

But he had—

“Wha—“

It was then the door to the room was blasted open, nurses and doctors rushing in in a flurry of movements and frantic shoutings. It was then he also realized the machines had been going crazy for quite some time. It was then he realized, as he was pushed out of the room, that he--

  


-

  
“Ready to go?” Yamapi can’t stop the grin from nearly splitting his face in two, can’t stop the way his heart flutter when he sees Kame already waiting in the passenger’s seat of his Honda Jazz. Even the way Kame looks at him in disapproval still makes the butterfly in his stomach dance.

“They’re gonna miss you, you know.” Kame says. “And they will never, ever, stop looking for you, because your friends are crazily stubborn that way.”

“They’re also your friends.” Yamapi chides him. “And it’s not like I’m leaving without saying goodbye.”

“You left them a _note._ On _Ryo’s freezer’s door_. Stuck with a _magnet pin_.” Kame says, incredulous. “To say they would be _livid_ would be an understatement.”

Yamapi wraps an arm around Kame’s shoulder, ignoring Kame’s indignant spluttering. “They would understand; I know they would.” He tells Kame’s hair, just before he places a light kiss upon it. “After all, they’re also crazily awesome like that.”

Kame looks up at him. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.” He looks rather unhappy.

“We have,” Yamapi says softly, “wasted so much time already. But at least now—at least now, I would be able to meet _you_ properly.”

“I,” Kame says, “would be totally mad at you; you do realize that, right?”

“I know.” Yamapi says. “But at least you,” he reaches out, his hand brushes through Kame’s hair, “would be _real._ ”

Kame sighs. “Crazy bastard.”

“Only for you.” Yamapi grins, bringing his eyes back to the road as he pulls the car out of the driveway. “Only for you.”

  


-

  
\--loved him.

  


-

 _Dear friends,_

 _Am on vacation. Indeterminably. Please don’t look for me, or I *will* make you regret it. You know I will._

 _Much love,  
Yamashita Tomohisa_

 _PS: No, really, I mean it. Think about all those painfully embarrassing photos I could send to the media.  
PPS: Yes, Bakanishi, this includes you.  
PPPS: And you also, Toma.  
PPPPS: And especially you, Takki. (call off that search party right now, or _else _.)  
PPPPPS: And most definitely you, Ryo-chan. (Seriously.)_

  
.

.

.

fin


End file.
